“My, what a tiara, Your Ladyship. A magnificent piece,” Violet duly responded.
“Oh, do you think so, Lady Violet? George had it made for me from sapphires from his father’s collection. A gift from the new King to his eldest child.”
Eldest but illegitimate, though we will not speak of that aloud, of course. Which is why your husband is Earl of Munster instead of Prince of Wales.
“It is the glorious centerpiece of this occasion,” Violet said, putting just the right amount of enthusiasm into her voice.
Enough to appease Mary Wyndham’s monstrous ego but not enough to sound simpering. A fine line must be walked when navigating the mazes of the Ton. Stray from the path and you are labeled a sycophant and your influence diminishes.
“I trust your dance card is already filling up, Lady Violet? I do so enjoy seeing people of genuine grace take the floor,” Lady Mary said.
“I have accepted a number of invitations, though I am no expert,” Violet said modestly.
“Nonsense my dear. I have seen you dance on a number of occasions and you are as graceful as a swan. Save a space for later in the evening, I believe George will request the pleasure of your company in a waltz.”
“I will certainly look forward to that, Lady Mary,” Violet said, bowing with her head at the honor done to her.
Lady Mary moved on, a path opening for her and hopeful lords and ladies seeking to catch her eye. Violet was aware of a number turning to her, seeking the same, and knew she would need to choose carefully who she acknowledged and in what order.
A fine line indeed. A tightrope walk even.
The first pair of eyes she caught belonged to a pretty young woman with dark hair and a bold nose above full lips. She was dressed in dark blue velvet and her straight hair hung to her shoulders, framing her face.
“Lillian, are you enjoying yourself?” Violet said, crossing the space between them.
She made eye contact with those she ought to, and acknowledged with short greetings a select few before she reached the side of her sister.
“It is certainly…shiny,” Lillian said with a wry smile. “I think I should have worn a hat to shade my eyes.”
Violet’s smile did not slip and she wove her arm through her sister’s, turning her and guiding her across the room.
“You shouldn’t say such things, Lilly,” she said when they reached a quiet spot with no-one quite within earshot. “You will get a reputation for having a sharp tongue.”
“Perhaps, I would prefer that to simpering before people like her,” Lillian said.
“She, is our host. And with the power to make or break our family in this city. With your interest in commerce and business, I would think that you would appreciate that,” Violet told her.
Does she not see that as members of society, we must play this game or see ourselves shoved into the outer darkness of anonymity? That would do Uncle George’s businesses no good at all.
Lillian scowled and Violet turned her to look towards one of the large portraits on the wall, placed between mirrors. None who saw the pair would have thought anything of the movement, certainly not that Violet had turned her sister around to hide her expression.
“I suppose you are right. You’re always right, Vi,” Lillian grumbled.
Violet laughed softly, hugging Lillian’s arm.
“I wish that were so. But I could not make head nor tail of a ledger or statement of account the way you can. Father…” Shestopped, clearing her throat. “…Uncle George is so proud of that.”
Lillian hugged back, smiling, and patting Violet’s hand. “You do not need to play with words around me. You are my sister and always will be. And Papa is your Papa too. Titles are meaningless.”
“What a thing to say in the house of an Earl!” George Ravendel exclaimed as he approached the two.
He walked with hands clasped behind him, wearing the red, yellow, and white uniform of his regiment. His white belt held back a spreading paunch but his broad shoulders and square-jawed face gave the impression of substance rather than fat. His bold nose was a feature both of his daughters, Lillian and Clara, had inherited. By contrast, Violet had a delicate button nose. Along with her fiery gold hair, amid the black and brown of the Ravendels, it was a feature that had always marked her out as different. Not that anyone in the family acknowledged that difference.
I am a Ravendel. In their eyes at least. My true origins are not important to them. Nor is whether I address George and Charlotte as Papa and Mama as I did when I was a child. Or Uncle and Aunt as I do since I discovered the truth.
“I meant the title Violet uses for you and Mama,” Lillian murmured.
George looked uncomfortable, huffing, and looking up at the portrait.
